pretty in ink
by flowermasters
Summary: Peggy is a secret agent by day and the front-woman of a girl band by night. Steve is just a tattoo artist, but he's also head over heels for her. AU.


A/N: Welp, everyone's been posting fanart of punk Steve, punk Bucky, punk Sam, and punk Nat, but I have yet to see punk Peggy. So here, have tattoo artist Steve and secret agent/rock goddess Peggy.

Warnings for: modern AU, some language.

* * *

"Steve," Bucky says, nearly choking on his beer. "Check out that girl."

Steve follows Bucky's gaze to the girl in question. She's beautiful, with long, shiny blonde hair and a sly smile. But Steve's eyes are drawn not to her pretty face, but to the tattoo on her upper arm; it's some type of green snake - a viper, maybe - and it curls down her upper arm in a way that is _supposed_ to be artful. Steve grimaces. "Hydra."

"What?" Bucky says, leaning in to here Steve over the noise. The bar (which is called The Expo for reasons unknown, except perhaps to the owner) is unusually crowded tonight - everyone's heard the rumors about who might be playing, and they've all come out in droves. Steve's a skeptic, but he and Bucky had been planning to come tonight anyways, so here they are, hidden away at their usual table in the corner.

"Her tattoo," Steve clarifies. "It looks like Hydra. I can tell by the choppy line work."

Bucky grimaces. "Well, there goes any plans I had to try and talk her up. Fuck Hydra."

Steve smiles, heartened by Bucky's loyalty, and Bucky grins back at him. Bucky is Steve's main cheerleader these days - well, he always has been, but now especially. Steve certainly needs the support, since he's attempting to eke out a living running a tiny tattoo parlor when Hydra is already hogging all the business in Brooklyn. Hydra is inexplicably popular, despite their lackluster artists and their sketchy back-door dealings (as in, literally out the back door.) But Steve's not ready to give up on Lucky Star, and as long as he's got Bucky backing him up and enough money to put food on the table, he'll be alright.

Before Steve has a chance to say anything more about his competition, Sam appears with a traditional greeting of, "On your left."

"Hey," Steve says, smiling, as Bucky tips his beer bottle in greeting. "I see you're showing off tonight."

Sam is wearing a tank-top despite the autumn chill outside, and it's not hard to tell why - the huge wing tattoos which span his upper back are visible on his shoulders, an intriguing hint to anyone who hasn't already seen them. Steve really doesn't mind Sam's preening, to be honest - it's Steve's artwork, after all, and he could use the free advertisement. "Hell yeah, I'm showing off," Sam says, flexing his muscles. "I mean, not that I need to, right? Beauty like this speaks for itself."

Bucky rolls his eyes and says, "Maybe Steve should have given you peacock feathers instead of cockatoo."

"They're _falcon_ wings!" Sam argues, and he and Bucky start up their usual routine of bickering. It's all fun and games, Steve knows, and it's basically how they show their affection for one another. Nevertheless, he tunes them out for a moment, his gaze searching the crowded bar for any of their other friends. On the small stage in front of the bar, an employee dressed in all black is setting up an amp. The sight reminds Steve of all the rumors he's heard today, and he turns his attention back to Sam and Bucky.

"So," he says, cutting short their playful argument. "Any ideas on whether the Shieldmaidens will actually show tonight?"

"All bets are off," Bucky says. "You never know with them. They're practically an urban legend at this point."

"But how sweet would it be if they showed up, man?" Sam says, stealing the last sip of Bucky's beer. "This girl who came into the shop a couple weeks ago said she saw them once. She said it was, and I quote, 'an experience.'"

"A good experience or a bad experience?" Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"She sounded happy about it," Sam says. "Well, as happy as somebody can be when they've just gotten their nipples stabbed with needles."

Bucky frowns. "How come you always get the nipples?" As Steve's piercers, Bucky and Sam make it a competition to see who can woo the most customers. Since Sam also serves as cashier, he tends to get first pick on who he wants to pierce. Plus, people sometimes chicken out when they find out they're going to be pierced by a guy with a metal arm - even though Steve's incredibly proud to say that Bucky's never once botched a piercing.

"Maybe people would just rather have me touch their nipples, Buck."

Before Bucky can come up with a response, Steve waves a hand to silence them both. Howard Stark, the bar's owner, has just appeared onstage, and he taps the microphone a couple times to get everyone's attention. Gradually, the crowd quietens by a few decibels, and Howard says, "How's everybody doing tonight?"

A predictably drunken and raucous response follows, and Howard grins like a cat that's recently acquired a canary. "Well, I have an unfortunate announcement to make."

Disappointment spreads over the crowd like a wave; next to Steve, Sam gives a resigned sigh. However, the mood doesn't last long, because Howard continues, "Tonight's open mike night has been cancelled."

The crowd gradually begins to perk up again, and even Steve is leaning forward on the table to get a better view of the stage. "We have some guests this evening who'll be performing instead," Howard says, and it's like the entire crowd sucks in a breath at the same time.

Howard smirks. "Please welcome to the stage . . . the Shieldmaidens!" he says, and the crowd goes absolutely _ballistic_.

Next to Steve, Sam is whooping like he's just won the lottery. Bucky is no better, as he pumps his fist into the air and spills Steve's soda on the table in his excitement. Steve finds himself cheering, too, even as he quickly grabs napkins from the dispenser on the table to wipe up Bucky's mess. He watches, awed, as the Shieldmaidens take the stage. They're notoriously hard to catch, as they only perform at bars and small nightclubs and no one ever knows they're playing until a few hours beforehand, tops - God knows what kind of magic Howard had to work to get them here. Even Steve, a Brooklyn native, has never seen them before tonight. A red-haired woman in a skintight black catsuit walks onstage carrying an electric guitar, and a statuesque brunette with Norse symbols tattooed up and down her arms takes her position at the drum set. Next out is another brunette - the bassist - who is clearly younger than the others and considerably more cheerful than her smirking pals. And finally, last but not least, out comes - well, the most beautiful woman Steve's ever laid eyes on.

She's _stunning_. Her skin is pale under the spotlight but her lips are as red as cherries, striking from even this far away. A diamond glitters on her upper lip - a Monroe piercing, Steve notes. She's wearing a form-fitting black dress, an olive green military jacket, and her hair is done up in pin-up girl curls around her face. "Wow," Steve manages.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor, Steve," Sam teases. "Jeez, man. You look like the heart-eyes emoji on my phone right now."

Steve finally tears his gaze away from the lead singer and rolls his eyes at Sam. He glances over at Bucky, expecting him to comment, but he's got eyes for no one except the red-headed guitarist. "Now, Bucky," Sam says, "Bucky is the smirking emoji. You know exactly which one I'm talking about."

Steve can't deny that Sam has a point there. Nevertheless, all talking ceases for a moment, as the lead singer gently clears her throat and steps up to the microphone, wrapping her hands loosely around the microphone stand. Without further ado, the Shieldmaidens begin. The girl who'd gotten her nipples pierced at Lucky Star had been right - watching them perform is definitely an experience. The whole band is talented and they work extremely well together - and while they're all certainly good-looking, Steve can't take his eyes off the singer. Her voice turns out to be a pure, warm alto, and Steve is pretty sure he might _actually_ be turning into the heart-eyes emoji at this point.

An hour later, the Shieldmaidens take a break - "We're not finished, so don't skip out on us yet!" the curly-haired bassist says after snatching the mike from the singer - and Bucky and Sam are bickering over who stands a better chance with the guitarist. Now that he doesn't have the band to focus on, Steve is starting to get a bit tired of all the noise and commotion. The crowd in the bar has doubled in the past hour since word has gotten out about the Shieldmaidens, and people coming in and out of the front door are constantly ushering in the faint scent of cigarette smoke. Steve definitely doesn't want to have an asthma attack in here, so he rises from the table and says loudly, "I'm gonna get some fresh air."

"You coming back for the rest of the show?" Bucky asks. Despite his tipsy state, his gaze is steady; after years of practice, he's able to tell with one look if Steve isn't feeling well or needs medical attention.

"Of course," Steve says, smiling reassuringly. Sam gives him a friendly pat on the back, and Steve slips away, weaseling through the crowd and out the front door. There's a particularly loud crowd of people chatting on the sidewalk out front, so Steve avoids them and walks aimlessly down the sidewalk. There's some faded graffiti on the brick wall of the building right next to the bar, and Steve walks into the side alley to get a closer look. He's never been drawn to graffiti himself, but Steve has an appreciation for most forms of art, even the less-than-legal ones.

While he's walking down the alley, focusing on all the spray-painted words and images on the wall and breathing in the relatively clean air, he doesn't realize he's not alone until he's practically right on top of someone else who's leaning against the wall with her back to him. "Oh, sorry," Steve says, stepping back slightly. "I should have been paying attention to where I -,"

The woman turns, and the rest of Steve's apology dies on his lips. It's the lead singer of the Shieldmaidens, and she's smiling slightly at him. "Oh," Steve blurts. "Hi. You're the singer." It occurs to him about a second later that she probably already knows that.

"Indeed," she replies, sounding faintly amused.

"Anyway," Steve says, "sorry for, uh, almost bumping into you." As usual when he's presented with the prospect of making conversation with someone he finds attractive, he becomes unable to string words together coherently.

"No harm done," she says, sliding her cell phone into the pocket of her coat as she speaks. "So, are you enjoying the show?"

"Yeah, definitely," Steve says. "You guys are great. Hard to find, too." He strategically doesn't point out that he hadn't even expected them to show at the beginning of the night.

She chuckles at that, and her Monroe piercing twinkles a bit in the orange glow from the street lamp at the end of the alley. Steve notes that her earlobes are pierced once each, but she has no other visible piercings or tattoos. "I've been told we're quite the tease," she agrees. "But we're worth it, I hope?"

"More than worth it," Steve says sincerely, and she gives him a warm smile. His heart starts tapping out a beat even faster than something in a Shieldmaidens song.

"Well, thank you," she says. "I'm Peggy, by the way."

Steve had completely forgotten to ask for her name - and even if he'd had the nerve to do it, he wouldn't have expected an answer, given how evasive the Shieldmaidens like to be. "Steve," he says. "Steve Rogers."

Her eyes flick downwards for a second, and she gestures in the direction of his chest. "Is that an eagle?" she asks. He looks down, too, and realizes that visible just above his shirt collar, at the base of his throat, is the head of the bird tattooed on his chest.

"Yeah," he says. The eagle had been one of his earliest tattoos, and he's pretty fond of it. It spans across his collarbones - not a considerable distance on someone as narrow as Steve. Granted, he's not _quite_ as skinny as he used to be, but still.

"Are you a patriot, or do you just have an interest in ornithology?" Peggy asks.

"Well, at the time I just thought it was a neat tattoo," he admits, and she chuckles. "But I guess a patriot."

"Where did you get it, if you don't mind me asking?" she inquires. The expression on her face is genuinely curious, and strangely enough, it helps to quell some of Steve's nervousness. He's still not going to win any awards for his skills with the ladies, but something about her down-to-earth, brisk nature has a steadying effect on him. "I'm looking to get my first."

"Well, the shop I got this done at is closed now," Steve says. "The owners moved to Jersey, I think. But you could always try Lucky Star." He doesn't like to advertise himself so shamelessly, but he's quickly learned that in the business world, it's a necessary evil.

"Lucky Star?" she says, her brow furrowing. "I've never heard of it, sorry."

Steve winces slightly. That's a bit of a blow to his ego, although he's pretty used to that sort of response. "You probably wouldn't have."

"Have you gotten anything done there?" she asks.

"Oh, I own it," he says automatically, and she looks surprised for half a second before carefully schooling her expression. "I'm a tattoo artist," he adds, by way of explanation.

"Really," she says. "Is your shop in Brooklyn?"

"Right up the street, actually," Steve says. That's part of the reason he, Sam, and Bucky always hang out at this particular bar - because it's literally a stone's throw from the shop.

Peggy gives him an appraising look, and then says, "Perhaps you could show me exactly where it is? I'd like to get a feel for the place before I get anything done."

Steve's heart starts hammering again. She's asking to see Lucky Star, which means she might _actually_ be interested in getting a tattoo from him, and he'll get to see her again. Going out to get fresh air is rapidly turning in to the best decision Steve's made all night. "Yeah, sure," he says earnestly, nodding quickly. "I can do that."

Peggy gives him an expectant look, and for a second he just stares back at her until he catches on. "Oh," he says. "You mean - now? But don't you have to get back in there?" He gestures towards the back door of The Expo, where quite a few people are waiting for the Shieldmaidens to go on again.

"This won't take long, will it?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "Good. Besides, they're not holding up on my account. Darcy's probably hit the bar by now, and it'll take Sif and Natasha the better part of an hour to get her back onstage, so they won't even notice I'm gone."

"Darcy - is that the bassist?" Steve asks, as he slowly leads the way out of the alley and onto the street. Peggy walks alongside him, her red heels clicking softly as she walks.

"How did you guess?" Peggy says dryly, and Steve chuckles.

"She seems fun," Steve says, as they skirt a group of people and keep walking. A few buildings down from where they are is the Lucky Star Tattoo Parlor, a tiny suite nestled between a shawarma joint and a yoga place. "How do you guys all know each other? You meet through music?" It's rapidly becoming easier to talk to her, he realizes suddenly. Sam and Bucky aren't going to believe this - not only is Steve holding a decent conversation with a girl, it's the _lead singer of the Shieldmaidens._

"We met through work, actually," Peggy says, with a faint smile. "We all travel a lot for our jobs, but whenever we're all in town at the same time, we perform together."

"Guess that explains why you guys are so hard to catch," Steve says, and she chuckles. They're coming up on a part of the sidewalk which is inexplicably riddled with cracks and holes, and without even thinking, Steve reaches out and grabs her gently by the elbow. She tenses ever so slightly, and Steve immediately starts internally panicking.

"Sorry," he says. "It's just the sidewalk's all messed up here. I didn't want you to fall." He gestures towards her feet by way of explanation. Steve has had too many girls come into his shop complaining that they'd broken a heel on the way in. "My friend Bucky and I have called everybody we know to call trying to get it fixed, but a patch of sidewalk in Brooklyn isn't really anybody's priority, y'know?"

"Oh," Peggy says simply. "Well, in that case, lead on." She offers him her arm, and he takes it, surprise written all over his face. Despite his astonishment, Steve does indeed lead on, and while he's not really sure how much good he actually does, Peggy makes it to the door of Lucky Star unscathed. Steve lets go of her arm to take his keys out of his pocket and unlock the front door, and then he admits her in with what he hopes is a welcoming sweep of his arm.

The place is dark and deserted at this hour of night, of course, but Steve gets everything lit up in a matter of seconds - he even goes so far as to turn the neon light out front on. The logo flickers on a second later - a single star enclosed within several white and red circles - and Peggy comments, "You really _are_ a patriot."

"Is that a bad thing?" Steve asks curiously, lingering by the door as Peggy drifts over to the wall nearest the cash register, where examples of Steve's work hang on display. Steve can't help but blush as she scrutinizes the pictures, her brow furrowed slightly as she contemplates.

"No, not at all," she replies, a tad distantly. "A bit unusual in this day and age, though."

Steve shrugs. "Guess so. Maybe it's too old-fashioned."

She glances over at him then and raises an eyebrow. "I happen to be fond of old-fashioned things, personally."

Steve can't hide his smile, and she gives him a rather warm look that makes what feels like a flock of butterflies take wing in his stomach. Peggy turns her attention back to the pictures on the wall shortly thereafter, and asks, "Did you do all of these?"

"Um, yeah," Steve says, crossing the room. "Not the piercings, though. My friends Bucky and Sam do most of those."

Peggy taps a picture thumb-tacked to the bulletin board next to the front counter. It's a photo of the three of them standing in front of the building - Bucky is pretending to choke Sam with his prosthetic arm, and Steve is nearly doubled over laughing at them. "Bucky and Sam, I presume."'

Steve nods, an arches an eyebrow at her. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"No," she says, straight-faced despite the twinkle in her eye. "No, I don't."

Steve can feel a warm blush creeping up his cheeks, and he quickly tries to change the subject before he can say anything especially stupid. "So, your first tattoo?" he prompts, and Peggy nods. "What do you want to get?"

"Something discreet," Peggy says. When Steve raises an eyebrow at her, she elaborates, "My job doesn't allow for tattoos that can't be covered, and putting make-up on it all the time would be quite the hassle. I was thinking of something that could be covered by my hair."

She has fairly short hair, but something small could potentially fit on the nape of her neck. "Like what?" Steve asks.

She shrugs. "A flower, maybe. Something simple."

Steve's next remark comes out before he has a chance to really think it over. "Like an English rose."

Peggy raises her eyebrows at him, but before he has a chance to really feel mortified, she just smiles and says enigmatically, "Perhaps."

A second later, she turns slightly, and reaches up to gently push aside the curls covering the back of her neck. "So what do you think?" she asks, all business. "Could you fit something there?"

"Yeah, definitely," Steve says. "So you're really thinking about getting it done here?"

"It's high on my list," she says, turning around. "I'd like to know all my options before I get something permanently etched into my skin."

"Smart," Steve says. "Whatever you do, just don't get it done at Hydra."

To his surprise, Peggy makes a face at the sound of the name. "Never," she says. "My friend Betty got her tragus pierced there, and they totally mucked it up. It didn't leave a scar, but there's no way in hell I'd go there for a tattoo."

Steve had thought he couldn't possibly be any more enamored with her. He'd been very wrong. Peggy walks off then, seemingly of a mind to explore the rest of the shop. She walks into the back room, where all the actual work is done, and he follows her. "Are you sure you shouldn't be getting back to the bar?" he asks. It's not that he's trying to rush her off, it's just that he's felt his phone vibrate twice in the past two minutes and he's pretty sure he knows exactly who's texting him. While Peggy eyes some of the equipment, he checks his phone and finds one message from Bucky - _where r u _followed by several seemingly random smiley faces - and another from Sam: _buck is doing shots with the bassist and drummer in an attempt to get closer to the guitarist. stand by for updates._

"Oh, am I holding you up?" Peggy asks, as if the thought had just occurred to her. She's immediately contrite. "Sorry," she says, drawing closer to him as she approaches the door.

"No," Steve says, shaking his head. "It's just - I figured _I_ was holding _you _up."

"Not at all," she replies, a smile gracing her face again. Steve feels all fluttery and warm again, mostly because she's standing awfully close now. "I ought to be getting back, though. Thank you for showing me your place, Steve."

"No problem," he says, reaching absently for the switch which will turn off the lights in the back room. A second later, they're plunged into semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the lights in the adjacent room. "I hope I see you again. To get your tattoo, I mean." _Don't sound so eager_, he chastises himself. Bucky's going to die laughing when he hears about this.

"I think you will," she says, and there's a moment's pause before she steps in and kisses him very lightly on the mouth.

Steve stiffens, more stunned than anything, and she pulls back a second later. "I'm sorry," she says. "I must have misread that." She sounds like she doesn't do that very often, and once Steve's brain finally starts functioning again he hurries to reassure her.

"No," he says. "You didn't misread anything, that was - that was totally okay." He almost adds that he certainly wouldn't mind if she did it again, but before he gets the chance to say anything else at all, her phone starts ringing.

"Terribly sorry," she says, pulling it out. She looks at the glowing screen and her brow furrows slightly. "Excuse me for a moment," she says, stepping aside to take the call. Steve is left standing by the door, lips tingling pleasantly and otherwise feeling rather gobsmacked. He has the presence of mind to take out his phone and type out a quick message to Sam (because Lord knows Bucky isn't going to be answering any texts coherently for the rest of the night.) _I'm with the singer_, he sends. _Her name is Peggy and she's magnificent._

"Right now? . . . Does Romanoff know?" Peggy's saying quietly. She pauses for several seconds, listening, and then says, "Alright. I'm on my way."

After she's hung up, she turns to him with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," she says briskly, "but something's come up. I've got to go."

"Oh," Steve says, disappointed. He knows he should ask for her phone number, or hell, even for her last name, but he doesn't feel right doing it when she's clearly in a rush. He walks her to the door, but there, they apparently must part ways. "See you around?"

She smiles. "I know where to find you," she says, glancing up at the glowing sign briefly before leaving, striding confidently down the street and around the corner, out of sight.

Steve shuts all the lights off and locks the front door before going back to The Expo - he doesn't exactly have anything better to do, after all - but just as he makes it to the front door, Sam comes out dragging a very tipsy Bucky. "The Shieldmaidens all just disappeared, man," Sam says, once he catches sight of Steve. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Lucky Star," Steve says, going around to Bucky's other side and grabbing him round the waist. Together, Sam and Steve coax Bucky along in the direction of the apartment that Steve and Bucky share. "I ran into the singer in the alley out back and she wanted to check it out. She wants a tattoo."

"Lucky you," Sam says dryly. "I've been babysitting lover-boy over here ever since you left. Beer he can handle, but tequila he can _not_."

"I was so close," Bucky says, giving Steve a little shake. Bucky is a rare example of someone who manages to sound moderately coherent when he's drunk, even if he can't walk straight. "We were talking. She says - _hic_ - she has a boyfriend - Clint or Clyde or something - but they're in an open relationship. I was gonna ask for her number and then _boom_. She vanishes."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I got left in the dust, too," Steve says, rather somberly. "Peggy kissed me and ran."

"She _kissed_ you?" Sam says, as Bucky trips over a crack in the sidewalk and nearly drags them all down to the ground. "Damn it. I knew I should have tried to get Sif's number. Why am _I_ the least lucky one here tonight?"

"Stick to your nipple piercings, man," Bucky says sagely, as if that makes any sense at all.

All anyone can talk about over the next few days is the Shieldmaidens - it seems like everyone who comes into Lucky Star had either been present at The Expo that night or is now incredibly angry that they weren't. Steve keeps waiting for Peggy to walk in the front door but so far, no dice.

Something good does happen, though. Almost a week later, Sam pokes his head into the back room of Lucky Star around noon and says, "Look, I get you're busy mooning, but come check it out. The moment we've all been waiting for is here."

"I'm not _mooning_," Steve says, putting down his pen. It's a slow day, and he's been doodling for the better part of the past hour. No one can blame him for practicing his rose designs, can they? He rises from his chair and follows Sam into the front room. "What's going on?"

Sam points out the front windows. Two men are visible on the sidewalk out front, filling in some of the cracks and holes with cement. "Huh," Steve says, pleasantly surprised. "Finally. That's great."

Steve's got to say thank you, so he walks to the front door and steps outside - but not without playfully poking a napping Bucky in the arm as he passes his chair and earning himself a groaned expletive first. "Hey," Steve says to the two men. "Thanks for coming out and fixing those holes. It's been a real eyesore for a while now."

"No problem," says one of the men, squinting up at Steve for a second before going back to work. Interestingly enough, he looks rather like he just left a business meeting, minus his jacket and tie.

"You guys from the city?" Steve asks, looking around. There's absolutely nothing around - no orange cones, no signs, nothing - that gives the impression that they are, which is rather unusual.

"Not exactly," the other man says. He doesn't sound too pleased about the work he's doing, although Steve can't imagine anybody who would. "We just owe somebody a favor."

"Oh," Steve says. He decides not to push his luck - after all, he's been on the verge of just coming out here and patching up the sidewalk himself for months now. "Well, thanks. Anyway, I own the tattoo parlor right there, so if you guys need a moment to rest or anything, feel free to come on in."

The second man gives Steve an appraising look. "Oh, _you're_ the one. Steve, right?"

"Uh, yes," Steve says, befuddled.

"I'm Clint, and this is Phil," he says. "I've heard about your place from a friend. The same friend who's calling in her favor, actually."

"Oh," Steve says, nodding. Before he manages to ask who said friend _is_, he hears the bell on the front door of Lucky Star jingle softly behind him as someone goes inside. "Speaking of my place, I'd better get back in there. But thanks again, guys."

"No problem," Clint says dryly.

Steve goes back in to Lucky Star without further ado. The customer who'd walked in turns out to be interested in getting a belly button piercing, so once again Steve is stuck in the back room with nothing productive to do. He's back to doodling when he hears the front door jingle again.

"Is Steve in?" a familiar voice asks, and Steve jumps up so quickly from his chair that he nearly knocks it over.

"Oh my God," is all a starstruck Sam manages.

Bucky, who is mid-piercing on the girl's belly button, looks over at Steve and says loudly, "No fuckin' way."

"Who's that?" the girl in the chair asks, right before she lets out a little yelp of pain.

Steve ignores all of them and hurries from the back room, and sure enough, it's Peggy. She smiles when he steps into view, the diamond on her lip twinkling, and says, "I told you I knew where to find you."

Steve supposes he really ought to thank his lucky stars for that.


End file.
